Lights Out
by ElegantGhost
Summary: Jim's guilt after a high-casualty mission prevents him from sleeping. He isn't ready to talk about it, so Bones resorts to the temporary fix of sedating him on the sly. A one-shot friendship fic.


_Disclaimer: I own no part of Star Trek: 2009. This one-shot is all in good fun. Something to keep me entertained while I continue my other Jim/Bones friendship fic, Visions of Sleep._

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Jim stared out the windowof his quarters. There was a beautiful spiral galaxy not a light year away, but he wasn't really stargazing. The only images before his eyes were the faces of crew members lost on the last mission. Crew members who had put their faith in him as their Captain.

He leaned his head against the bulkhead and clenched his jaw. There had been that Ensign Chelsea, bright-eyed and eager to prove herself. And Lieutenant Jason, a bit cocky perhaps, but brave and self-sacrificial in the heat of battle. Jim had seen them both die before his eyes. And they weren't the only ones. That cadet from the academy, John. The motherly figure onboard, Ruth. And-

There was a firm knock on Jim's door.

He turned his head with thought for opening it and decided against it. It was probably just Sulu, again reminding him that he was late for his shift on the bridge. He'd been late most of last week. This week, he'd skipped his shift three times entirely.

Lack of sleep made it impossible for him to function as a leader. What did they need him for anyway? As if Spock and his brilliant mind couldn't-

The knock came again, firmer this time.

_Go away, _he felt like saying. Before he had the chance, he heard the unmistakable sound of an override code being entered into the keypad. The only officer with the code was Bones.

Great.

The door slid open.

"Lights, 30%," a gruff voice ordered. "Jim? There a medical reason you aren't on the bridge?"

Jim only shrugged, still facing the window. Nope. Except for a little exhaustion (okay, a _lot _of exhaustion) he was in perfect physical health. Too bad he couldn't say the same for the crew members who'd lost their lives under his wing. Their names and faces ran through his mind yet again. Chelsea, Jason, John, Ruth, Mark, Sean, Lauren…

He distantly heard the sound of a tricorder beeping. Really, Bones? Can't even muster the decency to ask first?

As if Bones knew what he was thinking, the man explained, "I'd ask how you are, but based on your responses over the past week, you'd lie your ass off."

Jim cracked a smile. Good ol' Bones. He was right, of course.

When Bones was finished scanning him, he put the tricorder away without a word. Strange. Where was the scolding, irate tone he'd developed for patients over the last year? The medical orders, the harsh demands sprinkled with obscenities?

Jim turned his head to see Bones simply staring at him in the dim light. The look in his eyes was somehow comforting. It wasn't pitying and it wasn't inquisitive… it was understanding.

Jim opened his mouth to speak and found that he couldn't. So he turned back to the window and took a deep breath to try again. How could he possibly explain everything he was going through?

While he struggled to find the words, he heard Bones order something from the food replicator. The tricorder would have revealed how little he'd eaten over the past few days. It must have been a complex order, because it took at least a dozen keys to produce. Probably something enriched with vitamins and minerals.

When Jim turned a moment later, Bones was holding two steaming cups of broth. They smelled delicious. He gratefully accepted the offered mug. It'd been a challenge lately to find the energy to leave his quarters and eat with the rest of the crew, knowing that someday they might become haunting additions to his mental memorial.

"Talk to me," Bones ventured as Jim took a sip. The broth tasted like chicken.

Jim shrugged. "About what? Everything is fine." The words were softer than he'd intended, and by the look on Bones' face, he might have claimed to be Vulcan.

"You expect me to believe that?" Bones scoffed. "Damn it, Jim, we've known each other for years. Give me a little credit. Between shirking your duties and the tricorder readings, I'd need to be a fool to believe everything is fine with you."

"I'm just bored and tired," Jim snapped. He took another sip of the broth. Actually, it was more like a _gulp _at this point. If his stomach had previously gone into hibernation, it was waking up with a vengeance. Yum.

"Are you also depressed because the engineering parts Scotty ordered haven't arrived? Or did you want to give me some other bullshit reason?" Bones set down his own broth without drinking it. He crossed his arms.

Damn. Jim had forgotten about the tricorder's ability to scan mental health through chemical levels. That didn't seem very fair. He needed to order some tricorders for bodies only. Leave the brains to the head doctors.

"Bones," he sighed. "When I want to talk about things, I'll talk about them. All right? I just… don't. Not now."

Bones eyed him for a long moment. Almost as if he were waiting for something. Finally, he dropped his arms in submission. "I thought you'd say that." Pause. "You're as frustrating as hell, but I guess I can't heal everything the way I heal people."

Jim raised his mug in a toast. "Truer words were never spoken." He downed the remaining contents and set down the empty mug next to Bones' full one.

"Already eat?"

Bones rolled his eyes. "Breakfast was an hour ago, you know."

"Mind if I…" Jim reached for the second mug, but Bones gently stopped him.

"You better take it slow," he patted his shoulder. "Let your system adjust to digesting again."

"There's the man we know and love. Always thinking." Jim meant it lightly, but the words came out thick and slow. He yawned as Bones picked up the mugs and returned them to the food replicator.

"One of us has to."

_Heard that_, Jim meant to retort. Whether the words came out or not, he couldn't say. It was getting difficult to distinguish between what was in his head and what wasn't. Everything seemed kind of fuzzy around the edges. Soft. Fluffy.

He shook his head with a start. _Fluffy? _That kind of word had the potential to ruin his manly reputation. Maybe he'd gone without sleep longer than he originally thought.

"Come on," a voice muttered close to his ear. Before Jim knew it, his arm was draped around Bones' shoulders and he was being dragged toward the door. Oh, no. He couldn't let the crew see him like this. He dug his heels into the carpet, but it felt like all the strength had drained out of him. He was no match for Bones, who had gotten a full night of sleep.

"Don't fight it," he heard Bones say as they abruptly turned. Oh. They hadn't been aiming for the door after all. Jim plopped down on his bed with something less than grace. The mattress felt like it was made up of a thousand pillows. It was nice.

He fell onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He should really get the maintenance department up here to texture the ceiling with something. Like goose feathers.

"Knowing you, you're allergic to the damn things," Bones said, tugging his boots off for him.

Hmmm. Must have said that out loud.

Bones sat on the bed beside him and hauled him into a sitting position. That couldn't have been easy. Hell, he felt as if he were sinking through the floor. His head lolled around and fell forward. He yawned.

"_Everything is fine_," Bones quoted back to him. His fingertips brushed Jim's waist as he lifted the hem of his shirt over his head. "_Just bored and tired_. Hate to break it to you, kid, but you're practically drooling all over yourself." He balled up the dirty shirt and tossed it toward the laundry chute.

_Score_, Jim mentally cheered as the shirt disappeared. Next time they played two-on-two basketball, Bones was on his team. End of discussion.

His thought process was interrupted when Bones steered his upper half to the soft, awaiting pillows. When had he gotten up? The man _was _stealth, another useful quality in basketball. The man could probably dribble well enough too, although – Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand – he was dribbling enough for the both of them.

"You're on your own with the pants. I draw the line there."

Line… drawing. What was Bones _talking _about? Sometimes Jim didn't know what went on in that crazy mind of his. First basketball, now drawing. He couldn't keep up. Mumbling as much, he snuggled deeper into the pillows.

There was an amused chuckle before his legs were lifted onto the bed one at a time.

A gentle breeze preceded weightless sheets falling over him. They tickled and then stilled as his body heat warmed them. He'd bet his next date that NASA had designed the linens. Probably the mattress too. His bed was too comfortable to have been designed with earth's gravity in mind. It seemed to float with him, cradling his form as it hovered over the floor.

Man, he _must _have been tired.

A hand ruffled his hair, coming to rest on his shoulder. Its grip tightened reassuringly for a brief moment and then it was gone.

"Lights out," Bones murmured as he left the room. Any light beyond Jim's eyelids faded to pitch darkness. He heard the door to his quarters sliding shut, and then he sank into a blissful oblivion.

END.

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